“Ah, yes! You have been saying ‘Nonsense, nonsense’ to me all summer. But now this is not such ‘nonsense’ if the Indians have taken Noashak. And why should we suppose they haven’t got her? Has any child ever strayed from the camp before? Not one! Certainly they have enough intelligence to return if they are not prevented. And what else could prevent her—who else but your precious red traders! It is fortunate if they have only carried her away, and have not already taken her teeth for their children’s toys and her hair as a decoration.”
“Don’t!” Guninana cried shuddering.
Though his speech was cruel she knew Okak as a faithful friend. He had already put on his stoutest pair of boots and was selecting his best arrows with trembling hands.
“Where is Omialik?” he asked.
“Hunting.”
“It is as well for him that he is hunting!”
This threat sounded so sinister the others were quite taken aback. They had not expected blood and vengeance of the timid Okak.
Seeing Taptuna hesitated the little man took another tone, urging: “Come, neighbor, there is no time to lose. A volunteer party must start for the Indian encampment at once.”
When one person makes up his mind about anything so very positively, he is apt to carry conviction to others. Taptuna did not know what to think. Okak’s turning into a man of action was an uncanny business in itself. It made him feel as you would feel if a statue on the street corner suddenly came to life and commenced issuing orders. Circumstances seemed to prove his fears and hatred just. They had held the thought of Indians from the first, though unconfessed; and nothing came to mind to overthrow their neighbor’s reasoning. Besides, both realized that neither Okak nor the village knew the worst—the fact of Jimmie Muskrat’s trickery.
“Perhaps—perhaps! It will be better to go down and see—and be sure,” Taptuna muttered.